


Sons of Caine

by Graverobber141, GraveWriters, OhGodOfWriting



Category: Jupiter Ascending (2015)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:11:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6946996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graverobber141/pseuds/Graverobber141, https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraveWriters/pseuds/GraveWriters, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhGodOfWriting/pseuds/OhGodOfWriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Jones brothers grow up with Stinger Apini's granddaughter, Sorcha, who inherits leadership of the rebellion against the Abrasax family. She can handle rebelling against the universe's superpowers, but can she handle the SONS OF CAINE?</p>
<p>Stryker Skollsen-formerly known as Stryker Wise-was a Skyjacker in the Legion along with his elder brother, Vadik. At least, that was until Jupiter Jones declared open rebellion against the Abrasax family and other Entitled. Now, two years after the Rebellion suffered a devastating defeat, he's gone rogue, working as a mercenary in the darkest places of the 'verse. His current job is to rescue a prisoner from a Legion ship. Unbeknown to him, this prisoner is Sorcha Apini: granddaughter of Stinger Apini, former Aegis Captain, and current leader of the Rebellion, having taken up the mantle after the loss of her predecessors in one catastrophic blow. </p>
<p>Once childhood friends, these estranged descendants find themselves at odds and forced to coexist on the same ship. Different motivations, dead set in different directions, and a tendency to clash heads: the journey might kill them, but it's going to be one hell of a ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an original story set in the Jupiter Ascending universe, following the travels of the descendents of Stinger, Jupiter, and Caine. 
> 
> Co-written by OhGodOfWriting and Graverobber141.

Stryker was shaking. Taken from his bed late at night, led away by armed men with stone faces, his mother and father left far behind, and only ten years old, he was the most frightened he'd ever been in his life, and he clung tightly to his older brother's shirt. The other Lycantants in the room, all raised in splicer labs and bred for the military, could smell his fear. They were staring at him like he was fresh meat.

In a universe where genes were everything, the second son of Jupiter Jones and Caine Wise was born several steps behind. Like his father, Stryker Maximilian Wise was a runt and partly albino. Had he been raised in a splicer's lab, like those gathered in the room, his survival would've been unlikely. Life among the Entitled was little better, however, since he was a scandal child between a lowly splice and the recurrence of Seraphi Abrasax. He was an outsider, Omega, even then, and made an easy target for ridicule and persecution by the more 'pure-blooded' children of the other elite. Yet he had a guardian who always stood up for him.

Vadik Caine Wise, eldest son of Jupiter, met the other Lycantants' gazes challengingly, lips pulled back in a snarl of warning. Fifteen years old, and he was already a man. Since Stryker's birth, it had been Vadik's duty to be his shield against the 'verse.

One of the bigger males in the room, leader of a pack, circled around the two brothers, like he was enclosing prey. "You're the two mutts who were playing Entitled, offspring of that Abrasax bitch and her pet."

Stryker scooted behind his brother's leg, heart racing as the Lycantant moved around them. He whimpered.

Vadik stood his ground, ears twitching. He kept turning so his back was never left before the threat, and so that he was always protectively in front of his sibling. "Back away." His voice was calm and controlled, yet made a thousand promises of pain. 

"You don't order me. Learn your place, packless." The Lycantant snarled, charging straight at Vadik.

It was over in a blink of an eye.

Vadik pushed Stryker out of the way, and then braced himself as the other wolf-splice came at him. With a roll of his shoulder, Vadik flipped his assaulter onto his back, pinning him to the ground with a hand around his throat.

"Do you submit?" 

Stryker scrambled to his feet and as close to his brother, whose voice rung throughout the crowded gathering of Lycantants with command, as he dared to get.

"Do you submit?" Vadik had asked the question twice, and finally, he got an answer in the form of a snarl through gritted teeth:

"Yes."

The rest of the pack backed away as the elder brother stood to his feet, and pressed his sibling tightly against his body. "My brother is my pack, under my protection. No one is to harm him." Fifteen years old, and already he was speaking as if he had been an Alpha for years.

That night, as they laid down to sleep in their bunks, Stryker climbed next to his brother, who was wide awake, and watching the room of dozing Lycantants with vigilant eyes.

"You should get some rest, little pup," Vadik whispered, pressing a finger gently against Stryker's nose.

"I want to go home," the youngest pleaded. He didn't understand what had happened, or why it had happened. He just missed his mother, his father, and Uncle Stinger.

Vadik frowned, and huffed air out of his nose. "We can't go home. Titus's men have made that certain. We belong to the Legion now."

"Why?" Not understanding it almost bothered him as much as its happening. Stryker had always wanted to learn, to know.

Vadik sighed, his frown deepening. He was never one to lie. "Because...To them-the Entitled-we're just things. And because of who our mother is, we're dangerous things." He shook his head, before placing a hand on top of Stryker's head. "Don't worry, little pup. I will protect you. But you must be strong."

Stryker still didn't understand, nor did he realize how much his life was going to change. Yet, for the moment, he felt safe. Scared, but safe.

\----

Five years later, Vadik had earned his Skyjacker wings. Lycantants were flocking to his pack, under his leadership, and he was steadily climbing the Legion's chain-of-command. He was the perfect splice, the perfect soldier, and even though he was half-human, the perfect Alpha. The prime example of what a leader should be. 

As always, in a hierarchy were strength was everything, Stryker lagged behind. He was quick, a good shot, and a fast learner (he enjoyed tinkering with the Legion's tech), yet he wasn't strong. Some even called him weak, and accused him of being a burden upon the pack. He was born an Omega, even if Vadik tried to make him more. In fact, if it wasn't for his elder brother, Stryker wouldn't have ever been accepted into a pack. Most likely, he would've been killed during his first campaign. 

Stryker owed everything to his elder brother, and lived his life in Vadik's great, overarching shadow. If Stryker was invisible, the pack, with the knowledge of who he was protected by, begrudgingly ignored him. That fact was why he didn't try to step out from behind his brother; it was dangerous.

Yet the danger found him anyway.

Vadik's pack had been stationed on some out-of-the-way planet, running training exercises on rough terrain and in hostile environments. Stryker, after a long day of hard work, his body aching from physical exertion, had been walking to the barracks in the moonlight. That's when he was jumped.

A second before, he heard movement, and felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Before he could react, his shirt collar was grabbed, and he was thrown easily into the dirt. A dusty cloud surrounded his face as the Lycantant-the one his brother had tossed around years before-pinned him down with a hand over his mouth. 

With the weight on his chest, Stryker couldn't breath. Couldn't move.

"You're a burden to the pack, Omega," the Lycantant was snarling. He had murder in his eyes. "I'm going to do what nature would've done, had your brother not interfered." He reached behind his back to draw a knife. The blade scraped against its scabbard.

Stryker's heartbeat pounded in his ears. He was frozen by fear. Finally, he was facing the cruel reality of his fate.

The Lycantant brought the metal across the side of Stryker's jaw, digging it deep into his skin. The pain stung and burned, and Stryker felt a surge of power flood his veins. 

He was alone. Only he could save himself. He might be Omega, weak, and small, but he wasn't useless. And he would not die tonight. Not without a fight.

The blade was raised, and Stryker reached out to grab the Lycantant's wrist before it could be brought down again. With a twist, Stryker reversed its angle, and stabbed it deeply into his attacker's stomach.

That day, he realized he couldn't ever be Vadik, and standing motionless in his brother's shadow was never going to get him anywhere. No, he couldn't play Vadik's game, but he could invent in his own. Stryker had his agility, his wit, and a little thing called luck. 

\---

Another five years later, Stryker had officially gone rogue, packless, much to his brother's disdain. He began his own legacy, specializing in infiltration, sabotage, and technology. He was a lone wolf, which was odd for a Legionnaire, and odder for a Lycantant, but all armies had jobs that required a special touch to get done. Stryker did the things that the Legion never admitted they had to do.

After he cleaned house with a smuggling ring that was shipping tainted RegeneX across the 'verse, people started to take notice of Stryker Wise. And one day he was summoned to meet with Titus Abrasax, the man behind the 'make the politically dangerous children of Seraphi Abrasax's recurrence and her ex-con splice lover disappear' act. 

It had been cleverly executed. Caine Wise had belonged to a splicer, and then he was sold to the Legion. Since Stryker and Vadik were splice offspring of Caine Wise (even if, technically, they were only half-Lycantant; one drop of splice was too much to be considered vaguely human), they also belonged to the Legion. Titus had been the one-or had one of his lackeys-to work out the fine details of the law, and made sure that it was carried out, because he had a deep, all-consuming love for order. It wasn't a grab for power or anything of the sort, of course.

Stryker drummed his fingers impatiently against the extravagant, carved top of the golden dining table. He wondered, absently, when the Entitled walked through that door, if he'd have enough time to slit the porcelain throat with a knife before the guards descended upon him. 

He titled his head to the side, turning his gaze to a bear-splice. They tended to be slow. His lips tilted upward into a smirk.

Probably. 

His eyes shifted as the door did finally open, and Titus Abrasax, clad in black and elegant clothing, stepped inside. Luckily for the Entitled, Stryker had been disarmed before entering the room; though, as his father had proven before, Lycantant canines made great weapons on their own. 

"I'm glad you came," Titus greeted Stryker in a warm fashion, outstretching his arms in a welcoming manner. He smiled one of those fake smiles that hid the fangs of a serpent as he sat down opposite of the Legionnaire. 

Stryker deliberately let a few moments of silence pass before replying. "An Abrasax snaps, and the Legion jumps. They're very well trained dogs."

"'They'," Titus pointed out, raising a brow as he snapped, perhaps for demonstration, and a servant served them both wine, "So you don't consider yourself part of them?"

"It's a well known fact that Legionnaires, such as myself, aren't known for small talk," Stryker responded purposely, leaving his offered cup untouched, even as Titus drank. "Why don't we get to the reason you brought me here."

"A man of business." The Entitled clasped his hands together. His smile had turned into a smirk. "I can respect that."

Stryker stared at him evenly, waiting.

Titus leaned back in his chair before continuing, "You've earned a reputation in the Legion as a man who can get things done. And you're a Lycantant who can survive without a pack, a marvelous achievement in itself."

"And your point?" Stryker asked. He was getting impatient.

"I need someone like you serving in my personal guard." Titus took a sip of his wine, before setting the cup down. "I can get you your wings with a snap of my fingers, as you said. We're more alike then you think. We're both younger brothers overshadowed by our elder siblings, and we both realized that if we ever were going to get anywhere in our lives, we'd have to use our minds. Together, I believe we could accomplish...extraordinary things."

Stryker kept his face unreadable, as he began drumming on the arm of his chair. In Titus's offer, what Stryker's real job would be was left unspoken. Most Legionnaires did what they were told, as long as it was still within the scope of the law, something Stryker didn't care about. If Titus wanted more power, he had to take it from other Entitled. Having one of his guards serve as his eyes and ears would be beneficial, and no one would suspect a Skyjacker of foul play. 

Titus was offering this job specifically to Stryker for a few reasons: one, he thought he already controlled the Lycantant, two, he thought Stryker could be bought, and would be swayed with offers of power, and three, he assumed Stryker was stupid enough (because he was a splice, probably) that he wouldn't see a betrayal coming. 

Titus was clever, but his arrogance left him partially blinded. Stryker was used to being underestimated. In fact, he liked it. It made him more dangerous, when no one expected him to be a threat.

"You hesitate," Titus finally broke the long silence. "I understand that you must find it hard to trust me...But if that was the case, wouldn't you want to be in a position where you could keep an eye on me?"

Clever man.

Stryker smirked, revealing his long canines as he did so. "I accept your offer. It'll be an...honor."

'And when the time comes, I'll destroy your life, like the way you did mine,' he thought.

\----

"What are you doing?!" Vadik's disapproving voice boomed throughout Stryker's quarters. With disrespect for privacy, he had marched straight in, all but tearing down the door and causing earthquakes with his heavy, angry footsteps in the process. 

Stryker, still sprawled out and comfortably under the covers on his bed, didn't even bother to open his eyes. He just grumbled annoyingly, "Sleeping...Or trying to."

"You know that's not what I'm talking about," Vadik growled. Had he been looking, Stryker was pretty sure he would've seen smoke clouds fuming from his brother's ears.

"That's quite an assumption," Stryker yawned, still not moving an inch.

Vadik grabbed his blanket, ripped it from his younger brother's hold, and tossed it across the room. When the elder brother had begun to pick up the edge of the bed, Stryker sat up straight, held out his hands, and exclaimed, "For fuck's sake, calm down!"

Vadik dropped the bed back to the ground, though he was still huffing air out of his nose like a bull about to charge. "You're working for Titus Abrasax?"

Stryker clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, shook his head, and slid out of bed to pull on a pair of pants and shirt. "Not in the way you think."

Vadik snorted. "That's not an answer, Stryker. Either you are, or you aren't. There is no middle ground."

Stryker's ears twitched. Ah, his brother's rigid code of honor. Everything was black and white. Everything was right or wrong. 'There was no middle ground.' Yet that wasn't the way the 'verse worked.

"Stryker-" Vadik started to rumble after a long moment of silence.

"If he has something planned," Stryker finally spat back venomously, "which he does, I want to know. I want information I can use against him, to protect mother, because I'm certain it's her Titles he's after."

Vadik glared at him with a calmness that reminded Stryker of an eye of a hurricane. Then the eldest son of Caine Wise, Commander in the Legion, handed out his judgement, "If you wanted your wings, you should have earned them. Worse than brown nosing an Entitled to get them, you're brown nosing Titus Abrasax: the man who took us away from our family, tried to kill our mother-" His voice had started to raise, and he stopped abruptly.

He shook his head with a snarl. "I thought you were better than that, Stryker."

"Not everything is about you, brother." Stryker stared at him with an emptiness that hid a fury of emotions, biting his tongue to keep from saying more. 

Vadik snorted and stormed out of the room.

Stryker fell back into his bed, running his hands through his hair. It had taken him years to accept what he was, Omega. At the same time, he had made the decision to use his mind and agility to survive on his own, instead of being nothing more than the runt that was protected by the Legion's most prominent soldier. He knew this very well could end up as the result, this fracture between him and his brother, but he wouldn't ever be helpless, even if Vadik disapproved of his methods because of his delusions about war and honor.

He was just tired of being judged for who he wasn't, instead of who he was.

\----

People will live years in a hopeless slum under the iron fist of a tyrant without ever fighting back out of fear. Fear is a powerful force, the most potent one in the universe. Hate was born of fear, and war was born of hate. Fear will keep a man in his place, or drive him to do something desperate. 

The Abrasax family wielded fear the way a master blacksmith wielded a hammer to shape his metal into what he wanted. It was subtle, the way they did it, with their fake smiles and silver tongues, but words couldn't hide their actions, the way they made galaxies tremble before their rule.

With fear embedded so deeply within, one might wonder how a rebellion could ever start. The overly simplified answer: with a spark. 

Ever since Stryker and Vadik were forced into the Legion, Jupiter Jones had been tenaciously attacking the universe's social structure. She reprimanded RegeneX and the practice of harvesting, went after splicers and the harsh treatment of their creations, and demanded equal treatment of splices and anyone who wasn't Entitled. She was also refusing to harvest any of the planets whose Titles she owned, which was considerably slowing down the gears of the RegeneX producing machine. Stryker knew all of this because within the year he served as Titus Abrasax's personal guard, he heard the Entilted gossip like clucking hens.

He knew everything. And when whispers came to him that Stinger Apini, a man he had called Uncle, was going to refuse to enact the harvest of the next planet he was ordered to, Stryker went to his brother.

Even with their fractured relationship, Vadik listened, nodded when Stryker was done, and said, "We shall wait. We shall be ready. And we shall do what is right."

Then it happened. 

It was actually a planet owned by Titus Abrasax, and when Aegis would not respond to his demands, he ordered the Legion to intervene.

Stryker stood beside Vadik, Vadik's pack of loyal Lycantants behind them, and they both refused.

History has a funny way of repeating itself. Like their father before them, both of the brothers had their wings removed, were discharged from the Legion, and exiled to the Deadlands. They never made it there, however, for 'Uncle' Stinger, leading a renegade splinter sect of Aegis, assaulted the ship they were being transported on and freed them. After eleven long years, the Wise brothers were finally reunited with their father and mother.

Jupiter had plans. She was going to shake the very foundation of the Abrasax-run verse. She was going to change things, one way or another, and people believed in her. Even Stryker believed. For the first time in his life, he felt hope.

Yet hope was easily shattered.

\---

Rebellions, as a general rule, had less manpower, machinery, weaponry, resources, technology, and everything than whatever powers-that-be they were revolting against. They were underdogs, which made them fun to root for, but statistically very unlikely to succeed. Time was their worst enemy-sustaining a war meant they needed the things listed before, which were in short supply-and yet time was what Titus and Kalique Abrasax, along with the other Entitled, had an abundance of.

Yet, the Rebellion did have one important thing going for it: those who lead it.

Stinger Apini and Caine Wise were veteran soldiers. They knew how to work a battlefield. Vadik was less experienced, but he was ever inspiring, and had a taste for playing war.

Jupiter Jones, where she wasn't that skilled with military strategy, was the symbol the Rebellion needed, and people wanted to follow her.

Stryker himself was a brilliant tactician, and he wasn't limited to how the Legion fought war. In fact, he often used the Legion's rigid, predictable strategies against them. Not to mention that while in service to Titus, Stryker had amounted a network of contacts, which gave him view into the Abrasaxs' plans. 

Stinger's granddaughter, Sorcha, was also quite the leader and soldier herself, from what Stryker had heard and seen.

And there were others.

But time was against them, and the longer that the war dragged on, the more people they lost, and the greater the chance that someone within would betray them, and secrecy, being unpredictable was what made the Rebellion effective. 

Stryker had gotten a tip that Titus Abrasax was going to harvest a planet in the Augustus System of the Draco Galaxy. He planned, along with the other leaders of the Rebellion, to hold a blitz attack in defense of the planet, stopping the Aegis ships before they even landed.

Stryker led a small team of specialists to infiltrate the flagship, bringing down its defenses to leave it vulnerable. Vadik lead the strike team, along with Stinger, and Jupiter and Caine overlooked the battle from command of the Rebellion's own flagship.

It was supposed to be an easy victory, but things hardly work out the way they're supposed to, Stryker had learned. By the time he knew what was happening, it was too late. He had seen the message while hacking the boarded enemy's ship, but by the time he had called for a retreat, it had appeared:

Tons of shimmering metal, a dreadnought too big to land even on the largest of planets. It came blazing out of a portal, energy sparking around it, and like an angel of death, it rained fire and destruction from its cannons. 

Stryker watched powerless as his his parents' ship exploded into a barrage of oranges and reds, fire and metal propelling throughout the starry sky. 

Turned to stone, he just stood there. The cries he heard coming from the comms finally made him move. He abandoned the ship for a fighter, following the Rebellion soldiers who were desperately trying to escape.

Stinger and a small band covered them as they went through a portal. Another great man dead.

In one day, the Rebellion had lost most of what it had built in two years, not to mention its spark, the woman who had been its mother, Stryker's mother.

Some say he lost his fucking mind. After regrouping with the rest of the Rebellion at their base of operations, Stryker spent weeks in his own ship, scribbling on holographic boards, writing down connections, motivations, anything to help him find who informed Abrasax that the Rebellion was coming to strike. Who sold them out? Who killed his father and mother, along with countless others?

He hardly ate. Hardly slept. When he finally emerged, he looked different: hollowed and empty eyes, thinner features, unkempt hair and beard, and where he used to stand like he owned the room, he hunched over, keeping his eyes on the ground.

Vadik had been keeping himself busy by barking orders at others. There was always something to do: training drills, exercising, fixing something, usually armor and equipment. 

The two brothers argued, blaming each other for not being able to stop what happened. Stryker should've been more informed, Vadik shouldn't have let them go into battle. It was an endless cycle, and finally, they came to blows. After being pulled apart, Vadik accused his brother of being the one who sold them out, based upon his previous work for Titus Abrasax.

After a sick laugh, Stryker shook his head, and whispered, "Hell is other people." Then he left, and never came back.


	2. Chapter 2

Breaking into a prison ship that had a reputation for being the Legion's Guantanamo Bay was what most people would call suicide. The contract, brokered to Stryker by the Cartel, one of the most feared and brutal criminal organizations in the universe, had been turned down by a dozen freelancers. They considered it too risky, and only an idiot made an enemy out of the Legion and the Abrasax family. Being a defector and scandalous child of a splice and Entitled, Stryker was already on the shitlist of both. 

Besides, he loved a challenge. They made life interesting. 

It was rather disappointingly simple, to be honest. There were fourteen flaws in security that he exploited, ten of which that had been there when he was still in the Legion. Getting in had been a breeze.

He had left his own personal ship powered off, so that it couldn't be picked up on sensors. He slipped in through the bay doors as an aircraft was leaving, with the stealth cloak built into his leather trench coat engaged, avoiding any fighting until he arrived at the ship's mainframe. There, he cleared out the room with some fancy boot-work and knife slinging, made possible by the gravitational and magnetic fields his boots and gloves exploited, respectfully. 

In the process, he had set off a few alarms. Didn't matter, though. With a few hacks and swipes of his fingers on the main system, he was able to open a few cell blocks, which would create enough chaos for him to escape. He disabled the cameras and automated defenses for good measure while he was there.

Then he was chased down a few hallways, bullets grazing by him, as he activated the full power of his grav boots, right when he cloaked. It had an astonishing effect. One moment he was there, and the next, he wasn't. In a blink of an eye he had crossed the room and turned a corner, like he had just teleported, dropping a present for the guards that were tailing him. When he heard the explosion of the mine, he smirked.

A few more turns later, he found himself outside Interrogation Room 521. Just in time, luckily, to catch an armored Legionnaire opening the door. He raised his hand, unsheathing one of the long knives on his leg, and sent it flying right into the guard's throat with a flick of his wrist. The soldier fell onto his knees, gurgling blood, as Stryker stepped into the room.

Stryker and his brother resembled each other so well it was almost impossible not to assume they were related to each other. The differences were in their build and skin color; while Vadik was broad-shouldered, bulky, and tanned, Stryker was lean and more fair, due to his more prominent albino genetics. The younger brother also had an air of grace about him. He was tall and muscular, but not overly so, and his features were elegant and strong, making him resemble-as much as it was a cliche to say so-a Roman god chiseled into stone. Jupiter, his mother's namesake, had been the King of Olympus before a planet, so perhaps it was a fitting comparison. 

His long, straight, kept hair fell past his shoulders, and had inherited its dark brown color from his mother. Thinly-trimmed, roguish scruff dusted his jawline and chin. His eyes were a storm gray-odd, since none of his known family had such irises, but splice genetics were funny like that-that often held a calmness that came before a hurricane.

Stryker Wise had the look, the charm (when he wanted or needed to, anyhow), and beyond the standard intelligence of an Abrasax. Yet he was a Wise, which made him a splice, and splices would ever be lesser than purebred humans. And his father hadn't just passed down his name; Stryker had the trademarked pointed ears and extended canines-that often showed when he smirked-of a Lycantant. 

A splice didn't belong among the Entilted, and Stryker, a runt and omega, didn't belong in the Legion, where no Lycantant pack would ever accept him as one of their own. The scar that was edged into his skin, across his jawline from under his right ear to the bottom of his chin, was a testament to that fact. All parts of the reason he became a lone wolf, going rogue to work as a freelance mercenary throughout the 'verse. And he was currently dressed like one.

Stryker wore black on black from head to toe, not because it helped him blend in at night (that was a common misconception after all; black created a silhouette in darkness), but because it was his color. The shirt he wore was long-sleeved and patterned in the front, resembling one that Legionnaires tended to favor, and his pants were nondescript as well. His leather trench-coat reached down to his ankles, and had the capability of cloaking him. The things that stood out the most were his clanky metal boots-which, without the wings, made a sure sign that he was an ex-Skyjacker-and his gloves.

His gloves were truly special. They were black (of course), and lined with a silver material that seemed embedded within the thick leather of the gloves. The knuckles were reinforced with another silvery looking metal, each small buckle engraved with curly decorations. Then there were the metal plates on the backs and palms of the hands; those were what made them unique. 

Stryker had spent years developing the technology to manipulate magnetic fields with a flick of a hand, and then making that technology small enough to be useful to him. Now, he could toss anything made even remotely of metal around like he had telekinetic powers. And it was a one of a kind thing, because only one pair of these gloves were in existence. Sure, people had tried to copy what he had done, and flat out kill him for it, but so far, no one had been successful. 

For weapons, he had two long knives sheathed and strapped on the outside of his legs, and another curved one, his favorite, against the small of his back. A few more smaller knives, designed and weighted for throwing, lined the right inside of his coat. Lastly, a mauler pistol was holstered on his left hip, just in case. His knives were fun, yet lacked the range that a gun provided. 

Stryker took a look at the prisoner, and whistled lowly as he bent down to retrieve his weapon, cleaning it off on the dead man's jacket before sheathing it.

"I know you," he said dryly, as he rose to his feet. Who didn't? She had been the most wanted woman in the universe, and was about to be again. Besides, they had been childhood playmates. The statement had been said out of surprise; he hadn't been expecting to find her of all people. "No wonder someone's pushing a lot of Cs to free you."

He tilted his head in consideration, eyeing the rebel leader from head to toe. He clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth, crossing the room in a few strides. "Gotten yourself in quite the mess, haven't you?"

His lips broke into a small smirk as he clicked a small, portable computer on his right wrist, and waved a hand, bringing up a holographic interface, which he used to hack into her cuffs and unbound her. "Shall we be on our way? I'd rather not be here when they re-activate the defenses."


	3. Sorcha Gets Rescued

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stryker, after being surprised to learn that the person he has been hired to break out of prison is none other than his childhood friend and the leader of the rebellion he has abandoned, must help Sorcha escape. Sorcha is not happy to see him.

The leader of Jupiter Jones' once promising rebellion was now chained, hand and foot, to a table bolted to the center of a floor. 

Sorcha Apini looked a lot like her mother, Kiza, and had inherited leadership of the rebellion and a fighting attitude from grandfather. Jupiter Jones, Caine Wise, the Apinis, and General Tsing had formed a splinter of Aegis that stood up to the Abrasax empire and refused to harvest or use RegenX. Things had been going pretty decently until all of them had gotten themselves killed. That left only Kiza Apini (who had always only been organizational) Sorcha Apini, and the Jones/Wise brothers. Things got even worse when one of those brothers (in Sorcha's opinion) was a huge asshole and abandoned them. 

So even though Sorcha, rebel leader, was currently a prisoner aboard an enemy Legion ship, at least she wasn't stuck with that turncoat, Stryker Wise. 

In all relativity, this was just a very dangerous vacation. No matter what, she didn’t appear overly worried.

Sorcha had long since learned to be choosy about which emotions to show, and which not to. She had never been a complete stoic, but this was something she had been prepared for. Rebel leaders generally came to the same end. Then again, death would feel far less distant right before it came. She needed all the time to prepare that she could get. She wouldn’t give the bastards the satisfaction of seeing her crack. 

She tilted her chin up, letting her bruised face catch more light in the already dazzlingly lit room, ignoring the guard who was asking her questions. 

She was Kiza's daughter alright. Luckily she hadn't inherited much of her grandfather, save for the banded pattern of alternating light and dark hair that showed on the buzzed half of her head. On the other half of her head, her hair hung long, blonde, and curly. She had Kiza's sweet facial features - sweetness undermined by a ferocious personality, no nonsense attitude, and general lack of friendliness. To reinforce this point, her exposed ear was pierced multiple times with spikes and studs. Yet, for all of that, even knowing her pedigree and her ranking, she did not look intimidating. She was little, petite, and short. Her brown eyes were warm and cute, although the way they flashed gold in changing light was a little unsettling. 

The ripped-open back of her white tee shirt exposed much of a large tattoo which spanned from the small of her back all the way to either shoulder. An ascending black line, straight up her vertebra, which manifested into a spread eagle black inked bee, semitransparent golden-veined wings encompassing each shoulder blade. A shifting hexagonal pattern filled in below it, changing with the way the light hit it, and fading out into nothingness at the edges.

The guard who was leaving the room (and being ignored by Sorcha) was stopped in his tracks before he could close the door. The disruption of his murder caught Sorcha's eye, and she watched one of the Wise brothers enter. 

There was a moment, when Sorcha looked at Stryker, when she thought of her lieutenant-general, Vadik. Then that brief moment passed, and she realized that this was Vadik's brother, whom she hadn't seen for a very long time.

She was disappointed not to see her most trusted ally. She was more disappointed to see someone the opposite of trustworthy. "Oh, great. They send you."

Still, she was glad they hadn't risked sending the lieutenant-general. In fact, Stryker was probably working alone as he usually did. Only risking his life. She would have prefer they not risked any lives, even this turn-coat petty criminal's.

"I don't need any help. I could have gotten out of here just fine." This was highly unlikely, considering the stronghold in which she was imprisoned. Also, Sorcha looked like an unlikely candidate to not need help. She looked like she needed help opening jam jars. She was petite of height and slight of frame, with that ever-girlish face, no matter how excessive the sneer she slathered onto it. She had cascades of wavy, honey-blonde hair which tumbled over one shoulder. Her brown eyes were sweet, and her lips were full and kissable. But Sorcha had no interest in kissing anybody.

Least of all either of the Jones brothers. No matter how much they took after their late father.

Sorcha had always attempted to make alterations to her looks in order to appear more fierce (undercut hair, tattoos, piercings). After all, she had taken after her grandfather, Stinger Apini, in spirit if not in looks. She'd probably gotten a bit of her father in her too, not that she knew who he was. Just some legionnaire bee splice who Kiza had briefly shacked up with.

There was something about lacking a father, that made her grandpa even more of one to her. He never minded that she was a girl. In fact, he'd been thrilled that he was able to afford the recode that Kiza's health had demanded. After that whole mess with Jupiter and Caine, he'd gotten his wings back and risen within the ranks of Aegis. Sorcha had practically grown up sitting on laps, learning ship controls, or getting underneath General Tsing's feet.

Then Jupiter Jones, recurrence of Seraphi Abrasax, declared war on RegenX and anyone who attempted to create it, forming the Rebellion. Stinger and Tsing took a good portion of Aegis with them, which gave them a fighting chance. Suddenly, Sorcha wasn't just being raised to be an Aegis officer, now she was being groomed for a position of leadership in a rebellion against the leading powers of the universe.

That leadership had fallen onto her shoulders too soon, after her grandfather's death. General Tsing's, as well. The Rebellion caused a lot of deaths, but not as many deaths as they stopped. Not as many deaths as a harvest.

Yet Sorcha looked at her life, how she'd lost her grandfather, her mentor, her godparents, probably her biological father, and she could almost understand why Stryker had defected. It was hard not to believe that they were fighting a losing battle. It was hard, sometimes, to care enough about strangers, about right and wrong, to willingly lose and risk so much.

But Sorcha couldn't afford doubts. She was General now, the leader of the rebellion. A position she could not have fulfilled without the aid of her grumpy but dependable lieutenant-general, the son of Caine and Jupiter: Vadik. Apparently, she couldn't bust out of Legion prison without the other son either, a fact which she was decidedly more irked by.

So she gave Stryker her best sneer while she used her newly-freed hands to search the dead guard's body for weapons. She had a spectacular bruise across one eye from the interrogations she had received, as well as a bloody nose. These features were not hidden even as she bent her head and crouched down, due to the buzzcut on one side of her head, revealing the subtly-banded patterns in a bee splice's hair. Her dark piercings in her exposed ear caught the light. The front of her shirt was splattered with blood.

Finally, Sorcha stood up. She'd added knives to the belt in her pants, and a gun to her hands. "Lead the way," she said as she stood, giving Stryker an unflattering look. "I guess you know this place pretty well."

She made no attempt to hide how she felt about Stryker. He'd broken up the self-named Skollsen brothers by leaving. Sure, it had been in response to his parents' death, but he had abandoned Vadik. He was selfish, cowardly. Also, the rebellion really could have used a man with his skills. Case in point: Sorcha's current rescue.


	5. Chapter 5

They sent him?

Who were they?

Stryker had been watching the ferocious rebel's leader sudden change in expression, like she had been expecting someone else, or had mistaken him for someone else. With that one, short sentence, filled with so much loathing he could've been the one mistaking her for his brother instead, he was able to connect the dots. 

Vadik was still off playing hero with the Rebellion; of course he'd want his leader freed. He had been the one to make the contract. Yet this didn't seem like his style. Stryker's brother was more for storming the gates, not inside work, and he didn't like dealing with anyone like the Cartel. Perhaps he was desperate. Perhaps one of his underlings had gone behind his back. It was an interesting question, but Stryker didn't really care anymore, or at least that's what he told himself.

The side of his lip subtly twitched at the realization, like he wanted to growl, yet he reigned himself in, smirking instead. "So you say, after I have removed those cuffs from your wrists." It was extremely difficult to bullshit a bullshitter, and if she had been able to break out of here herself, he wouldn't have been hired.

He turned to watch her loot the body of the dead guard, tilting his head to the side. She didn't look like a rebel leader to him. Well, the piercings and tattoo, yes, but he did think she needed to be a bit more taller, more frightening. Yet he knew that the most dangerous people in the universe were those who didn't look like threats, and with a bruised and broken face, she currently filled that criteria. 

He had actually begun to feel sympathy for her, yet that light was quickly stomped out, as she, once again, looked at him in a way that reminded him of his brother's disapproval. 

He brushed past her, exiting the room, and taking a look around. A guard, probably trying to control the chaos he had created, stopped to take stock of them both, raise his rifle, and mumble a threat.

Stryker raised his hand, swiping it forward. The metal of the gun, drawn by the magnetic field created by his glove, was tossed aside. A second later, a knife pierced a gap in the chest plate of the soldier's armor, before being brought back in between the Lycantant's fingers. 

"Just try to keep-" He didn't finish the statement. A moment later, Stryker was running down the corridor, opposite of the charging footsteps, and toward the hanger.

An alarm had gone off, coupled with the noise of a full scale revolt. Had he caused that? Oops. The prisoners would make their way to the hanger to fight for ships to make an escape. The guards would do everything in their power to shut the area down. The mayhem would allow them to slip out relatively unnoticed.


End file.
